


Mesonyktikon

by lucianlibrarian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftercare, Altar Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Ignis Scientia, Creampie, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rituals, Rough Sex, Top Noctis Lucis Caelum, Tree Sex, ignoctspice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29606976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucianlibrarian/pseuds/lucianlibrarian
Summary: mesonyktikon(μεσονυκτικον): the Midnight Office, one of the Canonical Hours of devotion—originally purely monastic—that makes up the Byzantine Rite of worshipAfter Noctis receives Ramuh’s blessing, Ignis seeks a blessing of his own.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 17
Kudos: 55
Collections: The Ignoct Spice-a-thon





	Mesonyktikon

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of nowhere and slammed me in the head. Umm. Yeah. Happy Ignoct Spice!
> 
> Theme: Trust (+ extra spice)

Tonight, we camp in Fociaugh Hollow, safe in the belly of the earth. Safe because we slaughtered every daemon in our path. Safe because we bask at last in the afterglow (( _blessed be he_ )) of Ramuh’s favor.

As we sip cocoa by the fire, you absently stroke the Mark of the Fulgarian on your skin. Through shadows that coil around us like the Naga’s body, I see that flare of fierce divine violet (( _always_ )) in your eyes. I sit up a little straighter, flick my gaze away, push glasses back up my nose. Small movements—ones you recognize, understand intimately. When I glance back, your lips move, forming a single soundless word. I don’t have to hear it to know what it is:

“Later.”

And you are nothing if not a man of your word, for once the others are asleep, I feel the weight of you next to me and gentle lips brushing my cheek.

“It’s later now,” you whisper, somehow both demure and commanding, and if it were possible to crawl and cradle you at the same time, I would.

I settle for threading fingers with yours as you lead me to the monument, a petrified tree with glowing branches that fork the heavens like lightning.

My knees buckle at the implication, enough for you to catch me one-handed under my arm, spin me around, and fling me against its trunk. How could I forget your strength, you who already wore the brand of one god’s favor (( _blessed be he_ )) before another scored you voltbright? You, born to house all Their blessings, given flesh stronger than any other?

Now you hold me captive against Ramuh’s monument with lips and tongue. Work my belt open, free my cock as you slide pants and underwear past my hips, knees. In the stone tree’s soft light, I can see the shine of precome at the tip.

“Majesty,” I say, my voice lust-rough. “ _Please._ ”

“Shh. Got you, Specs.”

How can you fall to your own knees so gracefully? Is it because you were made to pray to the Astrals? Is it blasphemy, then, for you to kneel before me? Will they strike me down because I—

And then I am lost in the hollow of your throat, the tangle of my hand in your dark hair. It’s almost obscene, how quickly I ache to come. But you know me. You know to slow the drag of your mouth as you back off, let the cold cave air rob me of heat and need.

Your laugh cracks the stillness; I swear it smells of ozone, of petrichor. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” I drown (( _and fill my chest with you_ )) in those syllables, gasping as you rock back onto your feet and rise, rise. Cup my face and stare right through me: “Do you trust me?”

It’s almost too much. “Yes,” I say (( _always_ )). “Of course.”

“Shirt.”

You release me so I can peel it off. Circle around and take it from my hands once it’s free. When you tap my bicep, I grip both arms to a branch somewhere behind me. You’ve already wrapped part of the fabric around the stone bark to pad my palms, and now you tie the sleeves to stabilize my wrists.

The trunk of the monument—bolt-scarred with glowing stone that splits up and out like so many wires—is surprisingly smooth against my back. But the outer edges, peeled back from the ancient flash’s shockwave like boiled skin, press into my shoulder blades. I wince as you circle (( _cast deosil with the light_ )) back around, fingers wet with lube.

“It’s gonna _kill_ me not to take my time opening you up.” The light catches your eyes, and they’re perfect winedark nebulae. “But that’s not what you want tonight, is it?”

“No.” 

“What _do_ you want, Ignis?”

“I—” My needs catch in my throat. “I want to be fucked like the gods enter you.”

I should be more shocked by the grace you grant me. The gentle, steadying hand on my hip while I fidget my legs free. The tiny kisses along my throat as I wrap them around your waist. The sweet smile when you remove your slick finger from me and stroke yourself once, twice.

You push inside, and the burn is dizzying, deep, _glorious_. Every nerve in my body blazes at once, and (( _I pray_ )) I know a fraction of what it must feel like for you to be filled by the Astrals because I am filled by _you_. You, their _Chosen;_ you, their own.

When you bottom out, you wrap arms around me, envelop me, hold maddingly still. Your teeth scrape my lobe as you pant in my ear, “Just tell me when to go.”

(( _never_ )) When the light inside fades to a dull pulse of want, I say through gritted teeth, “Move.”

And oh _gods_ , there is nothing like this, like _you_. The stretch of me around your cock as you fuck me, hips snapping in cosmic rhythm. My heels dig into your ass, urging you ever harder and deeper. The petrified bark of the monument tears into me, shreds my back to wound, to wing—

(( _let’s fly away from this and go live somewhere by the water where you can catch us fish every day and i’ll cook all your favorites and worship you morning noon and night and let’s just forget these greedy gods and everything they plan to take from you—_ ))

“Come with me, love,” you growl, suddenly pumping me with a fever-hot hand. It’s all so much, but your words—your _command_ —is what finally tips me over the edge. As come spills over your knuckles, splashes my chest, I bury my mouth in your shoulder, clamp down to muzzle my cry. You grunt, then moan long and low. The taste of freshwater and iron overtakes my mouth as you come inside, (( _claiming_ )) filling me.

But it’s blood that anchors me when you finally pull out—the blood caking my back, your blood on my teeth. I am instantly guilty. How dare I presume to _bite_ you? “I’m so sorry, Noct,” I whisper in the halfdark. “Don’t know what came over me—”

“I mean, technically you did?” You chuckle, shrug, lick your fingers clean before tugging at your shirt to reveal the bloody bite I’ve left behind. “Anyway, I’d much rather wear your marks than any Astral’s.”

“Don’t be blasphemous.” (( _they all know who I belong to anyway_ ))

The softness in your face melts something in me I didn’t even know was still frozen. “C’mon, let me untie you and give you a potion before bed. You’re already gonna be so sore—” 

“You know I enjoy it,” I say, savoring the sting of sword-roughed hands against friction burn.

“I won’t send you to bed raw and _bleeding_ , Specs.” The corners of your mouth quirk up. “If nothing else, you’ll complain the next time you do laundry.”

“Touché.” I’m free and immediately pull my pants and underwear back on, paying no mind to the wetness I smear into fabric and skin. “In that case, I’ll accept _half_ a potion.”

Bless you (( _blessed be he_ )) for understanding—there, in your hands, a half-full potion. “I knew you’d insist, so I made this just for tonight. Well, whenever tonight would be.”

As I take the bottle from your hands, crack it to knit the surface wounds but leave the bruising intact, you scratch your head and look downward, shuffling your feet. So shy. I rush over to lift your face (( _heavens look at your Chosen look at the man who loves me_ )) and pepper it with kisses.

Tomorrow, we leave this cave and continue our slow march to Altissia—you, a little more divine and me, a little more devout. But tonight, I take my shirt back and follow you to the tent. Slot my body against yours. Fall asleep to the liturgy of your breath and pray, pray, pray.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: [@lucianlibrarian](https://twitter.com/lucianlibrarian)  
> Discord: starryfox#7213


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